All Roads
by Lee Tennant
Summary: When Samuel Weathervane wants to die, he finds that things have changed in Haven... and he can't believe it is for the better. Spoilers for all of Season 3.
1. Prologue

A trigger was such an unexpected and personal thing. That's what his mother always used to tell him. When the trigger comes you'll be so diverted by it - by its terrible random cruelty - that you won't realise at first that anything had changed.

When his mother triggered, just a young woman of 17 in late 1955, the Crocker was already dead. She would have made the sacrifice then despite her youth. She had a younger sister and would have spared her if she could.

But the Crocker was murdered. Her opportunity was lost.

She was dead by 1983 when the Troubles returned. And by some miracle, none of us triggered during that time. Her children, her siblings, their children, all survived their return unscathed. I was only 19 at the time and was sure I had wild 19-year-old experiences that should have flicked that invisible switch. But it didn't.

Maybe that experience made me too relaxed, too blasé about our family's curse. Maybe that's why I wasn't paying attention. Maybe that's why I'm the one telling you this story and not the others. And there are many others. We were too comfortable. We had too many children. We spread too far. We are one trauma away from disaster.

My grandmother and grandfather were cousins and both cursed by the same malady. They swore to never have children. But it was the 1930s and accidents happened. What excuse did we have? What lies do we tell our conscience? What will I tell my four-year-old daughter when I give her my warning as it was given to me and to my mother and to her parents before her? Back and back for so many generations that none of us know how far into the past it goes.

Be afraid. Do not live. Do not take chances. Know this secret part of yourself and hate it for eternity. You are an abomination. You are to be feared and scorned. You may one day bring pain and suffering and even death to everyone you meet.

She deserves better. Haven deserves better. The world deserves better. And they will get it.

The whispers have started. The new Crocker has triggered.

It is my time.

Do not judge me for nihilism or selfishness or self-absorption. It is my decision and I make it freely.

It ends here.


	2. Chapter 1

Duke Crocker never knew where to put the box. And someone watching him closely might notice how the box's location changed with his attitude to his family's history.

When he was in the most denial, it was stored deep in the bowels of the Cape Rouge where he couldn't see it. When he realised how marked was his ignorance, the box reappeared in the stateroom and the journals were once even found by his bed. Finally, the box seemed to settle into a cupboard; close enough for needed reference but otherwise locked away.

Crocker had come to accept his Trouble, if that was the right word. It didn't mean he had to like it.

He'd woken up in quite a good mood this morning; the warm summer sun on this bare stomach, the boat rocking gently underneath him. The Gull had reopened after his accident yesterday and people seemed to have bought the rather absurd 'impromptu Dress Like a Pirate Day' story the Haven Herald had come up with. He didn't know whether to be relieved or offended that his reputation for recklessness had helped sell the story.

He rolled off the bed and sat with his feet on the wooden boards for a while, feeling the familiar shift of the ship beneath him. He smiled, oddly content, and then took a warm shower and pulled some clothes on.

He paused for a moment, pondering his relaxed mood. The Bolt Gun killer was still at large and in a new body. He or she could be anybody. Nathan's heart had gotten quite a knock too but then he'd gotten involved in the Guard so what did he expect?

Duke fished his phone out of his pocket and pressed Audrey on the speed dial.

"Duke," she answered, "little busy right now".

"Of course you are. It's 7am on a Sunday. Most people would sleep in."

"Most people don't have paperwork that might, given this is Haven, quite literally smother me. Yesterday involved some creative bookkeeping to say the least."

"Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk to you about actually."

"Ah ha," muttered Audrey vaguely. She'd obviously decided his phone call didn't warrant her complete attention.

"I woke up in this really good mood this morning and I couldn't work out why. And then it hit me. I've grown so used to the crazy that I'm just happy we saved that little girl and didn't die."

"Okay."

"I'm serious, Parker. There's a serial killer on the loose, a member of the Guard is going to kill me, the Hunter is on its way and we have no plan to stop it. And here I am, whistling Dixie. I don't even know what that is. I don't care. It's being whistled."

"That's nice, Duke."

"So come to the Gull and have brunch with me. Let's celebrate my good mood."

Audrey sighed, "I can't. Honestly. I have..."

"Audrey, we've talked about this. You have less than 20 days to..."

"I'm well aware of that, Duke, I..."

"So take five. Is there a case? A Trouble? An anthropomorphised ride-on-tractor terrorising lawns?"

That got a laugh out of her. "Don't joke, Duke. It's not much of a leap from a rogue boat to a rogue mower. I can deal with dog people but moving inanimate objects freak me out."

"Come on, Audrey. Waffles. Bacon. Eggs."

"A member of the Guard released from the cells after charges were laid. Dead bodies."

"Fresh brewed coffee from New Guinean free trade beans."

"Ok, that's actually tempting."

"Then I'll meet you there. Half an hour."

"Make it an hour. And the coffee had better be good."

The phone clicked in his ear and he started whistling as he packed up some stuff. A normal day, that's what he'd have. A normal non-Haven day.

He threw himself into the back of the Jeep and drove up to the Gull; pleased it was full of Sunday morning brunchers. The season was fading and he'd started offering a free glass of sparking wine with breakfast on Sunday mornings. It had worked surprisingly well, although he was still annoyed that Wuornos had started breath testing his customers every Sunday. DUI should surely be the least of his concerns at the moment.

"Morning boss," said Lissa as he walked in. "Weren't expecting you today. How's the back?"

"Better than you'd think, under the circumstances."

"So you won't' be fighting off the invading hordes today?"

"If I do, I'll do it on ground level," he said with a wry smile.

Audrey was early, much to his surprise. He'd managed to reserve a table on the deck only to realise he'd basically asked her to come home.

"Maybe we should have gone somewhere where you, you know, don't live."

"It's fine, Duke. I wanted to talk to you anyway. Here's as good a place as any."

"Food now," he admonished her. "Serious conversations with the champagne."

"No, no. No champagne."

"Yes, champagne."

He gestured to Lissa, quickly ordered and then turned back to see Audrey giving him a knowing look.

"I know what this is about, Duke."

"What?" He shrugged his shoulders in what he hoped was a nonchalant gesture of dismissal.

"You wanting to talk. Bouncing around like there's nothing wrong. Whistling Dixie. This is about the Guard."

"The Guard? I don't get it."

"Jordan's relationship with Nathan let us all think the Guard could be contained. Now they're bound to be even more of a wild card than before. And I know how scared you are about that tattoo prophecy."

"I don't care about that," he said dismissively as a huge plate of pancakes, bacon and syrup was placed on the table in front of him. He opened the bottle of champagne and defiantly poured two glasses. "I told you. I'm in a good mood. I want to share it."

"What you're in, Duke, is denial."

"Fine. I'm in denial. What's so wrong with wanting an ordinary day. A normal non-Haven day.

"And as for the Guard, well, for the record I never trusted Jordan. I don't trust anyone with that tattoo. Period. So no, my issue is not with the Guard.

"My issue is that the sun is shining, no one's tried to destroy the town with voodoo, I haven't had to...," he paused and grimaced slightly before continuing, "...and I'm having breakfast with my friend. Who is leaving soon. Okay?"

Audrey flickered a brief moment of concern, then smiled, took a bite of the waffles Lissa had just delivered, and nodded.

"A normal day. I suppose I should see what one looks like before I...," she took a sip of champagne to clear her throat, "go away. So, okay."

Duke raised a glass and gestured at the pale blue sky.

"A toast then. To a normal day."

"A normal day," she repeated and the glasses clinked.

* * *

He hadn't had much time for the Rouge lately. Things having gotten even crazier than usual, he was relying on the Gull for his income and his ship was mostly rusting in the harbour unused.

The midday sun was blaring when he finally wheeled his jeep back into the marina and headed toward his baby. He'd decided that his normal day would involve some maintenance and repairs. And he might call an old friend who often needed some transport work of... delicate... items done. A run across the border – just like the old days- might make him feel normal again.

He felt a tinge of guilt and realised the thought of criminal activity made him feel uneasy these days. The Troubles really had changed him...

"Mr Crocker!"

The voice rang out as he stepped onto the deck of his ship. He swung his head around to see a man in his late forties standing near the water's edge.

"Mr Crocker, can I have a moment?"

"Depends," Duke called back cautiously, "Who are you?"

"Sorry. My name is Sam, Samuel Weathervane."

"Never heard of you."

"I... I know... but I... Mr Crocker, please, I need to speak to you. In private."

Duke flicked his eyes to the various weapons he had on deck and then to the nondescript middle-aged man in front of him; medium height, sandy brown hair and slightly pudgy around the middle. He shook his head so slightly Sam didn't even see and sighed. He was too paranoid.

He gestured to Sam to board and went inside to make some coffee.

As he packed the grounds into his stovepot, his eyes flicked to the nervous man hovering just inside the door to the stateroom.

"It's ok," he reassured him, "I don't bite."

"Unfortunately, I do," Samuel said quietly. "That's actually why I'm here."

Duke turned on the stove and got some mugs ready, giving Sam some time to marshal his thoughts.

"You're Troubled," he said finally, growing restless in the expanding silence.

Sam just nodded and stared for a moment out of the stateroom window. Finally, he said, "You know, my mother always warned me. I wouldn't listen. Or I would but... it didn't happen last time. I think we got too comfortable. And now..."

"Bad?"

"Very."

"You know," Duke told him, "I know Audrey Parker. If you need help, all you need to do is..."

"No!"

"Fine, fine. Just an idea. So, why are you here? You need a boat? Because the Rouge is the best in Haven. She can get you and whatever cargo you want anywhere you need."

"I don't need a boat."

"Oh." The coffee pot began to simmer and he turned it down organising his thoughts as he did so. "I just assumed, I mean... sorry... why are you here?"

"I thought that would be obvious," Sam said, "I'm here to die."

The coffee boiled over. Duke didn't notice.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: It's been a long time since I've written anything and I'm very rusty. This is a bit of a training project to get me back into the flow so any and all constructive feedback is very welcome. It's just a simple exploration of the issue of the Troubles and death; particularly Duke's relationship to his abilities.**

* * *

Sunsets were less than spectacular in Haven, Maine. Sunrises, now, they came over the North Atlantic with the promise of exotic Morocco or Portugal or the sands of the Sahara. Sunsets dribbled over the hills from the mainland, the sun dropping suddenly from sight as it dipped below the ridge line. If sunrise was the raw potential of Africa, sunset was staid and cold Vermont.

Duke had spent several relaxed and happy months in the Mediterranean and northern Africa. He had no idea what the hell was supposed to be in frigging Vermont.

Maybe that's why a day that had started with sunshine, good food, good company and the endless potential of a weekend could end with such a chill.

He was drinking whisky. Not good quality single-malt: a bottle of Irish blend. He often had images of a gorgeous renovated estate house in Cork with tipsy Irish people sweeping the remnants of other, better drops off the floor, pouring it all into one big vat and laughing at the sucker who was going to drink it.

He was surprised his image wasn't on the bottle.

"Now you're just being maudlin," he said out loud and gave himself a mental shake.

The Rouge had the perfect view of every perfect Haven sunrise. Sunset just meant that suddenly it got chilly and then you realised you couldn't see properly anymore.

As far as metaphors went, Duke was mentally working this one for all it was worth but found it flexible enough to withstand the manipulation. Then, he considered, there was also the association of sunsets and death and well, that just made the whole thing more appropriate.

He'd refused to kill Samuel Weathervane and the man had been... upset seemed an inadequate word. Sam had a self-contained way of holding himself, as though he couldn't let any part of the world touch him. And as he'd argued with Duke, getting more and more upset, his body had stayed still and unmoving.

Duke had seen this before. Once.

In Jordan whose touch caused intense pain. Even with the gloves, she'd held herself tight; using her face, her voice, her eyes to emote. Her hands and arms stayed tightly by her side.

Sam's control was tighter than Jordan's. Much tighter. AS though it wasn't just his touch that was his problem but his whole body.

He'd been extremely upset; Duke had seen it in his eyes. But even as he was crying, everything was under tight control.

"I don't understand," Sam said, "it's your job. It's what you're supposed to do."

"What? Murder people? No. No, it is not what I'm _supposed _to do. In fact, not murdering people, that's what we're normally supposed to do."

"It's not murder," Sam had argued. "It's not murder. I want to die. I just want you to help me. You can erase this curse from our family line."

"Trouble," Duke had corrected him, "it's your Trouble. And it will be gone soon."

"And next time?"

"You'll be in your seventies by then. Why do you care?"

"My children. My cousins. My nieces and nephews. Our family is huge. Some could be triggering even as we speak. I have to save them."

"I'm sorry," Duke said, "but I've rarely seen a Trouble that is that bad. And nearly all of them have solutions. That's what Audrey is here for."

"Since when does a Crocker take _her_ side? She doesn't understand. She's immune to the Troubles. She murdered a Crocker, for God's sake."

"That was actually self-defence. And possibly my fault," Duke shook his head at Sam's temporary confusion.

"I'm sorry. I won't do it. I _can't_ do it. If it was self-defence or the town was in danger then..."

"Don't you understand? Everybody is in danger. Everybody I go near. You're in danger right now just talking to me. My Trouble is..."

"I don't care about your Trouble. I don't. My answer is no. Now this is my property. Please, leave."

And he had; his arms squeezed tightly by his side as he navigated his way from out into the daylight.

* * *

The artificial glare of the marina came on as the warm sunlight bled from the world.

Duke poured the last shot of cheap whisky and threw the bottle over the side. Granted, this wasn't the most mature way of dealing with the situation but he needed to stop thinking for a moment. How did things get so fucked up that he was the go-to guy for Troubled euthanasia?

"It all stops when the Troubles go away," he crooned drunkenly, "But I lose Audrey on that day."

He thought about Kyle. Was Kyle's Trouble worth dying for? All he had to do was tell his descendents not to bury anything. People could go generations without burying anything. Duke had never buried anything in his life. And instead he had blood on his damn hands from those crazy religious nuts.

His mind veered away from Harry Nix. He couldn't even think about that.

He wondered what Audrey would say about Sam's case. He didn't know. She could become obsessive when a Trouble was involved. He knew what Nathan would say but then Nathan would accuse him of a murder that happened 200 miles away if he thought Duke was in the same state at the time.

His phone buzzed in his jeans and he pulled it out and glared at it blearily. Eight missed calls from Audrey. Two from the Gull. One from Bill who was wondering why he hadn't seen him and wanted to catch up.

He laughed without humour and threw the phone onto the deck.

"Hey, Bill. I've found out I have a destiny of murdering people I don't even know. It's a thing. How's the carpentry?"

As he drained the last bit of whisky from his glass he realised he was crying. So he went inside. There was no way he was letting anybody see him cry. Ever.

The sun set as he closed the door behind him.


End file.
